Footprints in the Sand
by Lizard Pie
Summary: On the night of the '92 Olympic opening ceremony, East Germany and Russia look for nothing more than the sound of water. If they achieved some grasp on what had been, and what was to come, so be it.
1. Chapter 1

Back when Prussia had been in existence, he had loved Spain. Not as much as he had adored Italy, but it had many of the perks without the irritation of someone trying to chase an unwelcome visitor out of the younger nation's house. And after dissolving and being reborn as East Germany, after division and reunification and the horrors which had incurred around all that, he found that he still loved it just as much as he had back in his original days of alliance. It was absolutely fitting that, in the first Olympic Games after being reunited with his brother, he was in a place that he'd adored so much.

It was for that reason that he'd demanded that their hotel room have a balcony and a view of the Mediterranean Sea. West, having long since learned that it was infinitely easier to let his brother have his way when he became inexplicably passionate about something, had booked accordingly.

East stood outside his room, rested his chest on his folded arms on the railing and watched the sea roll in far below him. Or, rather, he listened to it around the sounds of the city and parties he wasn't invited to; it was too dark to tell much more than the moon reflecting on the water a ways out. Not that it mattered much. All he needed was the warm sea air. Oh God, was it ever warm out!

Exhausted from the opening ceremonies, evidently, West had declined to join his brother in quietly relishing the night. East didn't bother to look back, but the lack of illumination in his peripheral vision said that his brother must have finished reading in bed and had actually gone to sleep.

It was all just fine, honestly. West hadn't been trapped in the Eastern Bloc. He hadn't lived in some shitty apartment where the heating didn't work, and hadn't been stuck working profitless jobs which seemed to go out of their way to exemplify the frigid air. He hadn't been exposed to Siberia because of minor indiscretion, nor had he been stuck there because of a refusal from others to acknowledge him. More than that, he hadn't had to do any of it while slowly starving to death with his economy.

Because of that, West would probably never understand the freedom that things like the Olympics brought about. The ability to travel beyond the iron curtain, to be recognized and to taste warm air that he'd only been able to dream about was….

Mind-blowing.

As if the world could sense his love for it, a breeze came to him. He closed his eyes and smiled as he let the heat move his hair and fill every last bit of his lungs with the salty flair of the Mediterranean.

Much as he loved Paris, as well, he thanked every power he could think of that France hadn't won his Olympic bid. It simply didn't have the…

East's eyes snapped open. Centuries of being a warrior had given him acute senses that (if he did say so himself) weren't matched much anymore. They were more than enough to hear the sliding glass door from the next suite open and shut, and to pick up the quiet footfalls which carried someone to their own railing. Even over the smells the country he was in insisted on flooding him with, East could still make out a scent he'd become all too familiar with.

He would have sworn under his breath if he hadn't known that would have given far too much satisfaction to his new companion.

Russia, after all, was never shy about how giddy he became when he was able to rile someone simply by making an appearance.

"I see I'm not the only one enjoying the weather," Russia said happily. "It's so nice out, da?"

East didn't have to look over to see the smile on his former captor's face, nor to watch as only the eyes gave away the rage when Russia found that he wasn't immediately responded to.

It was funny, almost. Even starved, abandoned, and outside of anything that could be considered his element, Russia still believed himself to be worthy of nothing less than undivided and fearful attention. Even as he clung to others in a desperate attempt to stay alive. He couldn't even make it to where he stood without aid…

That East, as well, had traveled and taken such lavish accommodations on West's dollar was irrelevant; at least, in East's mind. He wasn't the one trying desperately to incite terror.

"I almost was thinking of sleeping out here," Russia said; his voice almost wistful, though not without a hint of the anger within him. "I wasn't expecting to have company, but I suppose I'll welcome it. Even if it is you…"

"Touched," East said plainly, still without so much as a glance. "Really. But I can think of much better company to spend the night with."

"As can I."

"Then shut the fuck up."

Russia blinked and watched the former religious order, former empire, former country, former state, and currently a division based on culture rather than lines of a map. He'd been dissolved and recreated so many times that it truly was a wonder that the original, infamous personality still existed in any sense. It would have been ironic, were it not for the solution most likely being that this particular figure was simply too stubborn to die or change completely.

And now that Russia faced change like he hadn't even dreamed of, he wondered if he too would come out this unscathed.

In rooms below them, there was evidently karaoke beginning to be carried out in the most inebriated sense of the term. All around, there was conversation and orgasm and cavorting.

Spain's home was alive in celebration, and the former socialists wanted nothing more than to strangle it into silence so that the waves could be heard again.

"West booked the room too fucking high up."

Russia looked over, but East still refused to.

"I can't fucking hear a thing except for England's singing." He near scoffed as he referred to the drunken wailing as anything but, and the two smirked just slightly in the closest thing to camaraderie that they'd had in years. "Can you?"

"Not particularly," Russia said. "I assume one would have to be near on top of the water to hear it over this sort of racket."

"Yeah, you're right." East turned to leave.

Russia watched him slip inside the German room with mild interest, and returned his attention to the water. He'd fully expected the Teutonic Knight, Prussia, GDR, and now East to have done his customary storm off. Considering there was no precedent to anything but that sort of behavior, Russia felt that he was more than a little justified in being shocked when the sliding door opened again.

Not that, even in a weakened state, he would show anything of the sort to East.

"Are you coming or what?"

Russia turned his head, and weighed all information presented to him for any sort of ulterior motive. Finding none, Russia gave a smile and nod.

"Let me get my shoes."


	2. Chapter 2

It was amazing the sort of drunkards that they surrounded themselves with, the two realized separately, silently, but simultaneously, as they made their way from the suites to the ground floor of the hotel. Not that either one of them was a stranger to the bottom of a bottle (or multiple bottles, for that matter), but they both were positive that they never acted this boisterously. Both knew the price of allowing oneself to become too impaired to fight back.

Almost subconsciously, both mused over exactly how simple it would be to take over the entire world right then and there. But it was not the time or place for such thoughts, and they peacefully made their way out of the hotel and onto the beach. They focused, instead, on how silly it had been to have put so much effort into tightly lacing shoes which they were going to discard in favor of walking barefoot through the sand.

"I always dreamed of living in a place like this," Russia said as they began to walk. Neither nation bothered to turn their head to the other, but he continued. "Where everything is always warm, even in the middle of the night. Sometimes I think it's for the best, though, that I wasn't. I'd never get anything done; I'd just wander the beach like this."

"Nothing much seemed to get done, anyway," East said. He paused to roll his pant legs up and wade into the water until it was halfway up his calves before he continued his stroll.

The look of intimidation that Russia put on was one which had been practiced and perfected over decades and centuries. It was usually backed up, though, with physical presence in more than just his eyes. With someone like the region he was with at the moment, who had greeted death like an everyday occurrence, it was completely inadequate to get any sort of response.

Russia was reminded of why he'd let the stubborn pain-in-the-ass go in the first place. But, since he had chosen to be out right then in this particular company, he consented to chuckle a bit.

"Less, I mean."

They continued to make their way down the beach; past the hotels and the parties until they found a place far more isolated. The two of them walked until there was nothing but the Earth speaking to them. Or, at least, as close to that as they would ever get. Especially in Spain, especially on this particular night, they took as much solitude as they were capable of having.

The pointed kick East added to his step made the water explode around him, and very much helped smother the remains of the music they'd left behind.

A small voice in the back of East's mind had grown as it berated him for the sheer stupidity of his actions. Being alone with anyone, much less Russia, was almost always a suicidal endeavor for at least one party. Prussia would have had his sword, gun, whatever he had handy drawn already. If there was going to be a fight, he would most certainly be the one who walked away from it.

East found with more than a little discomfort that he had no weapon at all on him; unless he was planning on beating Russia to death with the heel of a dress shoe. There was a tiny amount of comfort in that the exact same thought seemed to have crossed his companion's mind, as Russia had suddenly become very fascinated with the shoes in his own hand.

"Shame they're not steel-tipped, hmm?" East asked.

Russia looked up, brow raised. It was acknowledgement that he'd been found out; not for a millisecond fringing on either apology or embarrassment. East, though, had returned the gesture completely.

"Yes, it is. I should start producing some…"

"I'd buy a pair."

"It would certainly make tonight more lively," Russia said as he took a seat on the sand.

East remained in the water, and let the waves crash around his bare calf muscles. Immersed in the sound and feel of what he'd been longing for the whole time, he allowed himself to relax. He would have fallen back into the water, and probably relished the resulting crash, were he not still in the designer outfit from the ceremony. Such outfits were never cheap, and he was sure West would have more than a few lectures in store for exposing it so thoroughly to sea water.

He briefly considered stripping, perhaps down to nothing, and enjoying a swim under the moon and what little light was able to reach him. Unfortunately, there was no way to forget he wasn't alone. And, even if this particular company seemed more than content to quietly observe and run his fingers through the sand, it was still troublesome.

This was one of the reasons Prussia had avoided others so much. Accompaniment was awkward when the air wasn't filled with noise, and he'd never been very good at conversation. He missed Fredrick II for the millionth time that week; he would have known exactly how to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence, and would have allowed the country under his command to follow along when and if he felt comfortable to.

Combat was so much easier than anything else, if only because he'd been originally created to do nothing but. Strategies took discussion, but 90% was simply going out and seeing who could withstand the most pain. Flesh on flesh, and romantic at least in East's mind. Things were so bland without it.

Times were changing, though, more quickly than before as the old ways crumbled under the weight of pens. The time of war was ending, and that was why Prussia was dead. He had become East, and East was a part of Germany, and Germany's place in the world was based upon diplomacy; which meant everything came down to conversation.

West had expressed interest in improving relations with Russia; mostly based on trade and the belief that it would be simpler to deal with the eccentric country if they regarded one-another as friends. Much as it turned East's stomach, his new role in life was to benefit the unified country, and that meant that he needed to say more than a few words in one go.

They'd had alliance once; it just needed to be reaffirmed. It wasn't like he'd never done so in his various reincarnations, nor was it that Russia was such a stranger to him.

But damned if East didn't feel stupid for the only thing he could come with to talk about.

"So, how have you been doing lately?"

Russia turned his attention fully to East. His significantly thinner face told everything that needed to be, but the discussion couldn't be left there.


	3. Chapter 3

East had essentially sat at Russia's right hand during the union. He'd fallen into the comfortable role of soldier, of politician, of comrade, and it had led to him through surviving. At least, surviving in however loosely someone wanted to take that term. Conversation between the two of them had been simple for years, and yet they stared at each other with immense discomfort.

It had been what seemed like ages since Prussia had seen the skeptical look Russia gave potential enemies, rather than known allies. It had been a progression to the latter, and he hadn't paid attention. But there was a fierce reversion back, now.

Having seen the new look a few times that night, Prussia found that there was difference between the two. Shame that it took so much to finally come to that conclusion.

"I've been alright," Russia said, simply. "Considering all the work I have to do. I'm just a little tired." His smile broadened. "But then, so are you."

"Aren't we all," East said.

"Well, yes, but not all of us have someone helping us along." Russia smiled out at the water. "Or taking care of everything for us."

East knew exactly what was being referred to, and he'd heard it all before. Taking the bait would have been fun, interesting, but he had responsibilities to live up to. "You sound like Poland."

Russia looked over. "Does he say that?"

"He's not very happy that I went back with my brother," East said. He shrugged dismissively. "He gave me an ultimatum that it was West or him. And, much as I love _my_ land and all…"

Russia chuckled. "It _is_ wonderful land."

"Isn't it just?" East smirked. "He knew what I was gonna choose, though."

"We all did," Russia smiled. "It was so courteous of your brother to take such a huge hit to his economy for you. Especially in the face of so much western complaining…"

He brushed it off, much in the same manner he had toward France and England innumerable times over the centuries. "That's what real allies do for each other."

East had tried to make the implication obvious, and just the slightest quirk in Russia's eyebrow said that it had been fully received. None the less, the smile was exactly the same as it had always been.

"And what were we?" Russia asked lightly. "You were so friendly for so long, and then the second I loosened my grip you turned on your heel and went back with your brother. I expected as much from you to be traitorous, but now you act like you're cherishing alliance." His smile widened. "Are you planning on treating your brother like you did me, I wonder…?"

"Do you honestly think that what I feel for West is close to anything towards you?" East asked with a laugh. "There's no way in hell. I fucking hate you, and I might always…"

"As do I," Russia said, laughed. His eyes gleamed a bit as a smirk grew. "And, yet, here we both are. So the question becomes why, doesn't it?"

The soft hints of music from the unrelenting parties far to their left filled the silence as the two looked one another over and weighed their options. Their separation had been bitter, as had the occupation and the recent war and every war that had preceded it. East had sat like a lap dog to survive, and now that he was out the hatred felt by what was left of Prussia burned in his eyes. Even if he was fighting so hard to make it seem indifferent.

It didn't phase Russia, he'd seen anger before and to have someone angry rather than terrified was always so much more entertaining. But an angry Prussia had very little precedent for sharing idle chit-chat; nor did an angry Germany who he was now a part of.

East was something quite different… at least he seemed to like to portray himself as something very different. As the union separated further and further, it seemed that everyone had a face that Russia hadn't seen before.

The world, apparently, was full of liars…

"We're here because the world has become quite complicated," Russia said finally. "And everyone has a solution but us."

"Funny how that works."

"Da," Russia replied lightly. He dug his toes into the sand, and relished the feel of the warmth blanketing them for what felt like the first time in an eternity. It was such a shame he hadn't defeated America; at least, not enough to claim his land. He'd heard there were places just like this, even warmer than this, and for that to have been made his territory would have been so nice.

He'd try again in a few years, maybe. Or maybe he'd just take over Spain. True, the former conquistador had been an incredible force to be reckoned with before. But Russia was fairly sure he could occupy more than a few regions (vital or otherwise) before the country they were currently in woke up from his siesta…

Until then, he had things to work out.

As did his companion, who seemed distracted.

"Something wrong?" Russia asked.

East shook his head absently, his eyes focused on the lights of the city. "No. We should get back before someone realizes we left, though. I'm sure your handlers are looking for you."

"And they aren't for you?"

East did nothing but smirk and began to walk towards the hotel; which left Russia with no option but to get up and hurry after him.


End file.
